


Never Happened

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN Works (<15k words) [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chip butties, Claire is Dean 2.0, Curses, Fan Fiction Meta Madness, Gen, Genderswap, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sam Ships It, Sam has Opinions(TM) about fan fiction, Trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: THE BUNKER FILES: There are some things that the boys (or the writers) like to pretend never happened… But they totally did.





	1. GLORD in the Dark

I AM GLORD. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?

The measly human thing cowered before GLORD because GLORD was fearsome and should make all tremble before GLORD'S power.

But then the human thing stopped cowering. GLORD was not happy.

"Aw fuck," the human thing said. "Sammy!" The human thing pulled a weapon from behind it while calling over its shoulder. Another, taller human thing came in the room.

This taller human thing pleased GLORD. Perhaps this taller human thing was who GLORD was supposed to fight. It seemed to be a more worthy opponent.

YOU, WARRIOR HUMAN THING. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME TO FIGHT?

Both human things cowered again at GLORD'S voice. Pitiable. This would be an easy fight. GLORD wondered if GLORD should even bother.

"What did you do, Dean?"

"Me?! You're the one who told me to open up Box 3746-M!"

"Dammit, Dean, I said Box 3746-N!"

"This is why we have a phonetic alpha—"

ENOUGH OF YOUR HUMAN WHINING AND TALKING. YOU ARE MAKING GLORD MAD. NOW WE FIGHT.

"What the fuck is it saying?"

"I dunno! You're the language nerd!"

"I don't speak troll!"

"Well maybe you should before you tell me to open up a fucking curse box of troll essence!"

"I didn't, you asshole! _You_ got the wrong box!"

"No! This is _not_ my fault!"

GLORD let the human things babble. It didn't matter. GLORD would destroy them. For too long, GLORD had been locked in that box, bound to the darkness and the amulet inside. Now GLORD would rule the world, destroy anyone or anything that stood in GLORD'S path.

The human things would be first.

GLORD raised GLORD'S arms, stretching and raising the giant club that had claimed many victories. GLORD looked up at the false light in the roof. It was not sunlight, but it was better than before. Soon GLORD would revel in the world like GLORD deserved.

"Wait, wait, I read about these guys," taller human thing was saying. It was also holding a small weapon. GLORD scoffed. Tiny human weapons were no match for GLORD'S club and strength.

"Of course you did…" smaller human thing muttered.

"Yeah, they're a subspecies of troll. But unlike other trolls, they really hate the darkness."

"That why it was all Pandora'd?"

"Yeah, maybe!"

"So, what, we shut off the lights and poof?"

GLORD roared. The human things clutched their ears, pressing the tiny weapons against their heads. NO YOU WILL NOT SEND ME BACK INTO THE DARK. I WILL RULE. WE WILL FIGHT AND I WILL DESTROY YOU.

"I think it understood that, Dean…"

"Yeah, well, too bad. Night-night, Fugly."

Smaller human thing and taller human thing ran out of the room, turning off the false light and closing the door.

NO!

It was dark, all dark in the room. GLORD felt GLORD'S power weaken and shrivel. GLORD lashed out, aiming for the door with the club. GLORD wasn't strong enough to break the door without light, but GLORD still was pleased with the loud _boom_ of the club against the metal. Perhaps this would scare the human things into letting GLORD out.

I AM GLORD. YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME.

But even as GLORD roared in the direction of the human things that GLORD could still smell on the other side of the door, GLORD shrank and shrank, getting pulled back into the amulet.

NO. I WILL RETURN, PUNY HUMAN THINGS. YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE GLORD'S WRATH.

_Pop._

GLORD disappeared, back into the amulet once more.

 


	2. Nookan's Buttymance

"Well, no wonder the Men of Letters wanted this place back. Can't believe you've been holding out on the rest of us!"

Harry Nookan looked almost slack-jawed around what the Winchesters had called the War Room. Dean gave him a look that clearly said he still wasn't entirely convinced Harry wasn't a plant. But really, just because a man was British didn't mean he was caught up with those arseholes. Harry had gotten the spiel from Mick Davies last year—before the Men of Letters HQ here in the States had been destroyed, of course—and had roundly told the man where exactly he could shove his offer. He only wished that he'd been with Sam Winchester and his crew to take the stuck up bastards down.

In any case, a rugaru killing about an hour's drive from here had landed him working on the same case as the Winchesters, and then Sam had invited him back to the Bunker. Dean, with whom Harry had been getting along with swimmingly all through the hunt (he'd thought, at least), had balked at first before ceding to his brother.

Dean muttered something about Sam showing Harry a room while he went out to get them "some grub." Sam nodded and was about to lead Harry away when Dean asked gruffly, "Whaddya want? Burger and fries work?"

Harry sighed. He'd never understand Americans' love of places like McDonald's or Burger King or whatever greasy establishment Dean was going to patronize, with their thin, tasteless meat patties and wilting toppings and bland condiments. "I suppose."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're as bad as Sam, all salads and shit."

"Hey," Sam said without any heat.

Harry snorted. "Hardly. We Brits like our junk food just as much as you. It's been years since I've had a chip butty. Never thought I'd long for one…"

"A chip butty? The hell is that?"

"Heathens," Harry said, clutching his heart, but smiling. "I suppose the best way to describe it would be a chip sandwich—well, French fries, that is."

"A French fry sandwich?" Dean blinked.

"Toasted up on a bun, seasoned with your prefered sauce—I always liked mine with brown sauce, but my father was a malt vinegar man, God rest his soul. Ketchup isn't all bad, though, either."

Dean grinned at the description while Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean, you're lucky you haven't keeled over from a heart attack as it is."

"You're no fun, Sam. Wonder you haven't bored yourself to death." Dean turned back to Harry. "Tell ya what: the diner couple towns over, betcha they could fix up a chip...butty. Man, that's a terrible name."

Harry brightened considerably at the promise of a taste of the home country. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sue—she runs the place—she's got a soft spot for me." He winked, and not for the first time, Harry felt fluttery in the elder Winchester's presence. To Sam, Dean said, "Alright, you get Nookan all set up. I'll be back in a bit." Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean had already turned away and was waving him off, "Yeah, yeah, I'll get your rabbit food for ya."

  


Harry was in the kitchen, suffering through a cheap beer, when Dean returned with the food, but Dean was only holding two styrofoam containers.

"Already gave Sam his leafy greens, put him out to pasture," Dean announced, setting the boxes on the metal counter. "Alright, let's check out this chip butty situation."

Harry grinned and cracked open the container. The chip butty before him looked like it could have come from any old shop back home. It was gloriously stuffed with chips and the bread had been toasted to perfection. His mouth watered.

Before he could try his butty, there was an unholy moan from across the counter that made Harry's belly and below do things it probably shouldn't.

"Oh man," Dean muffled around a bite of food. "This is awesome."

"Righ'?" Harry said around his own mouthful. It was hot and salty and perfect. He swallowed. Looking up, he caught eyes with Dean who had apparently taken a break from his own meal to watch Harry. There was a hunger in his green eyes that Harry was pretty sure had nothing to do with food.

He coughed lightly. He didn't want to find out he'd been reading the situation wrong: lord knew how hunters were a prickly sort, particularly about any perceived threat to their fragile masculinity—and while Harry Nookan could more than hold his own in a fight, he would rather not take on the fabled Dean Winchester. Not in that sense, at least.

So, instead, he changed the subject.

"That Sue at the diner: sure she's not from my side of the pond?"

Dean took another bite, shrugged, chewed, and swallowed. "Don't think so. She's actually a quarter siren, but she's good people. We helped her out on a case a few years ago. She's been keeping me in burgers and pies ever since."

Harry nearly choked on his butty. "A quarter siren?" He eyed his chip butty dubiously, then looked up at Dean in horror.

Dean laughed. "Nah, it's fine. She doesn't have the power to do anything to us." He smirked and winked again. "'Sides, don't think we need a siren's help here."

That damned wink. The man was too good with it.

_Play it cool, Harry. You're sitting in a bloody bunker drinking cheap beer and eating chip butties. You probably have ketchup smeared on your cheek. Don't be an idiot._

"Oh really?" It meant to sound suave, but Harry was pretty sure he sounded like a bumbling fifteen-year-old virgin.

"Yeah, really." Dean grinned, holding up the chip butty. "Like they say, the way into a man's pants is through food."

Harry laughed and came around the counter to face Dean. "Close enough."

Dean hooked a finger into Harry's belt loop and pulled him forward. "You sure about that? Seems to me we could be a lot closer."

Nearly breathless, Harry managed to stammer out, "I think you're right."

Dean smirked. "My room."

"Should we bring these?" Harry nodded towards the counter.

"Always had a thing for a nice butt." Dean grinned, entirely too pleased with his pun, then turned away, presumably to lead them to his room.

"Yours isn't so bad, either." It was true: people had probably written songs about Dean Winchester's glorious derrière...and possibly his other fine parts.

Dean faltered for a moment, as though caught off guard by the compliment. Finally, Harry felt like he had some sort of advantage, given the other man's practically inhuman charm. It really was unfair.

Grabbing the food from the counter, Harry came up beside Dean, saying low in his ear, "Now, about that getting into your pants business, hm?"

The smug flirtation came right back on Dean's face. "I like the way you think, Nookan."

"I think you'll like a lot of what I can do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had or seen a chip butty, so I apologize for any inaccuracies...


	3. A Perfect Giantess

Sam looked in the mirror with a frown. He pulled at his hair—about five inches longer than normal—then straightened his shoulders, only to cave in again when he saw how much that made his boobs stick out. They'd done a lot of weird things but this had to take the cake. At least he didn't look that bad as a girl. Sure, he was a foot taller than most girls, but he was actually kind of pretty.

"Do I get to call you Samantha now?" Dean chortled from behind him.

"You do anyway, jerk." His voice was about an octave higher now. It was weird.

"Bitch."

"Is that really how you talk to your sister?" Crowley drawled from beside Dean.

Sam turned away from the mirror. "Shut up, Crowley."  

"Love it when you get all tough, Moose."

Sam tugged at his clothes, which fit awkwardly over his new body's shape. Luckily, for this, he hadn't had to try and find women's clothing. It was hard enough finding men's clothing in this size, and the spell they'd used had just altered some of his anatomy, not his whole skeletal structure.

"Still don't see why _I_ had to do this," Sam grumbled. "We just needed any female for a lure to trap the stupid thing. We could've called someone."

Dean balked. "You wanna call up Jody? Claire? Donna? No, nuh uh. We're trapping this sonofabitch and we're not putting one of them in harm's way. We've been over this before. We let it out, we put it back in."

"You could have done it," Sam pointed out and walked over to the table to pick up his gun. His jeans felt tight across his hips, even though they were loose on his waist. Everything moved wrong and even the short walk had him wishing for a bra. How did girls deal with this all the time?

"It's true, Squirrel. You do have quite the bone structure."

"Not helping, Crowley!"

Crowley, of course, seemed completely unfazed by Dean's outburst and just contemplated the enspelled purple gem he'd used to transform Sam—something he'd apparently picked up from his mother. "Of course, if we didn't need a specifically human soul to complete this little charade, I could have done it. I make a rather fetching woman." He smirked at Dean, who flushed. "And as you know, I can do all _sorts_ of things as it is. Just imagine what I could do…"

"Oh god," Sam muttered, then stalked away towards the dungeons.

Somehow, swapping genders and hunting a monster in the Bunker seemed like a better time than listening to Crowley replay his favorite hits with his brother from their summer of love.

Hell, getting eaten by the monster might be even better.


	4. Unchristible

They were sitting in the library, reading up for a case, when Dean suddenly looked up with a thoughtful look on his face, the kind he reserved for such philosophical debates as who would win a fight: astronauts or cavemen?

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"How come we don't use  _ christo _ anymore?"

Sam paused his reading and finally looked up. "Uh. I dunno."

Dean drummed his fingers on the table. "Think it would even work on the guys we've come across these days? I mean, Wispy the Pilot was bush league."

Sam considered that. "You're probably right. I can't see that stopping Crowley, or even most of his minions."

"He's unchristible," Dean decided, nodding sagely.

"That's not a word."

"Well it should be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I cheated a little... the original is Uncristible, but whatever.


	5. RomancyHeart

_Dean looks across the diner table at Castiel. It doesn't matter how many times he looks, he sees something new in those blue eyes. Castiel is made of eons and Dean finds himself lost in his cerulean orbs._

_"I've always loved you, Dean. Ever since I saw your soul in Hell. I'd never seen something so bright and pure. It was mesmerizing."_

_Dean has never been one for words, and so he leans across, not caring at all that his burger nearly gets squashed or that he might have ketchup stains on his shirt later, and presses his lips to Cas'._

 

Sam looked up from his phone with his brows knit and his lips pursed. _Cerulean orbs?_ he scoffed, then scrolled back up to the top of the page. Kudos: 583. Frowning, Sam clicked on RomancyHeart's works list—each of their fics had at least 400 kudos on it and hundreds of comments. Apparently, the most popular one was a coffee shop AU where Dean is a florist who falls in love with Castiel, the punk-rock tattooed barista who only works at the shop until his band makes it big.

Please.

If one of them was going to be the musician, it'd be Dean.

And he couldn't really see either of them as florists, but he'd bet Cas would rather play with flowers than Dean would. He'd probably also smite any customer who said his arrangements weren't perfect.

Well, what was the saying? If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself?

With a sigh, Sam booted up Google Docs.

 

_"Cas, you sonofabitch!" Dean calls through the Bunker. "Where the hell did you put my duffel bag?"_

_"It's in the closet where it belongs. Maybe if you just_ looked _before_ assuming _it was misplaced—"_

_"It doesn't belong in the closet! I told you this! That half of the closet is yours so you'll buy some damned clothes! Just shove the duffel under the bed!"_

_"What's wrong with my clothes?" Cas calls back. Apparently, this is a conversation that is best conducted from several rooms away._

_Or not. Dean and Cas meet in the library where Sam tries to read inconspicuously._

_"What, you gonna call me a lumberjack again?" Dean spits out, crossing his arms._

_Cas smirks. "It worked before."_

_"What?"_

_"Got you out of those clothes."_

_Dean goes fish-faced and then stammers, "Well...you...your clothes…"_

_"Whatever you're about to say about getting Cas out of his clothes, please, for the love of all that is sacred, do it somewhere else. Like your room," Sam finally pipes up._

_Cas and Dean both turn on him, as if surprised to see him there._

_"Your brother has a point."_

 

See? Much more realistic.

Sam fired up a new tab, opened AO3, and started to post his new work.

He'd show RomancyHeart how it was done.


	6. Can't Good

"This...bad," Dean forced out, grimacing at Sam. Every muscle in his body strained with even the slightest effort. Even his eyeballs hurt to move more than necessary.

"Yeah." The effort to say that one word made Sam look like he'd just passed a kidney stone.

Rowena grinned at them from across the table. "It's funny: I told my son he was just distracted by your pretty faces—and they are quite pretty. But that wasn't true, was it? This is much better. You boys always were a bit too smart for your own good."

"Can't...good." Honestly, Dean wasn't even sure what he was trying to say there. He was sure it was intended to be something witty and cutting.

"Well said, dear." The witch's smirk widened as she looked over the two Winchesters appraisingly. "Now, let's chat a little about the _Black Grimoire_ , shall we?"

Sam frowned. "No...book."

Rowena's eyes sparkled. "I'm sorry, I suppose I should have been more clear: I'll chat while you two lovelies just point me in the direction of the _Grimoire_. We can have this all done and squared away in time for a spot of tea."

"Dungeon," Dean choked out.

"Tsk tsk." Rowena waggled a finger at them. "No need to be naughty, Dean. Besides, I thought we were friends now? After all I've done for you."

"You...book...bad…" Sam gasped.

"Oh, Samuel, do you really think having that book here with you two or any old bumbling idiot who might stumble across it would be wise? Who knows what trouble you two would land yourselves in. I merely want to make sure it's in the hands of someone competent."

"Evil!" Dean growled at her.

"That was rude," Rowena responded primly. "And I would beg to differ. I'm not saying I haven’t had my...transgressions in the past, but haven't we all? Really, I'm hardly different than either of you."

"No," Sam forced out through his teeth. He was breathing as heavily as he could, but even that was weak as the muscles in his chest labored under the spell.

"Ah well," Rowena declared, standing up. "I supposed I'll just have to look for myself."

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, still glued to their seats in the library. There wasn't anything else they could do as Rowena took out a charmed necklace, muttered something that sounded Gaelic, and then smiled as the charm glowed purple and levitated to point in the direction of the hallway—likely in the direction of Sam's room.

She paused on her way past Sam to pat him on the cheek. "Be back in a mo', love."

It was more than a "mo'", but probably not more than five, when Rowena returned, arms ladened with the big black book.

"Samuel, your room, dear. It's so _bare_. You really need a woman's touch in there."

"Go...away."

"Well, if you insist." Rowena practically floated up the stairs to the Bunker's entrance. "Thank you, boys," she caroled from over the railing at the top.

A moment later and the heavy door slammed shut. A half hour later, the spell loosened and Sam and Dean fell forward in their seats, having been straining to get up ever since Rowena appeared and spelled them. They gasped and took deep lungfuls of air.

"That coulda gone better," Dean grunted as he stood up, still hunched in on himself.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "You think?"

Now what was he going to read before bed each night?


	7. Captive Something Bachelor

"Claire?" Dean stammered as he opened up the Bunker door.

There was Claire Novak, sporting a shiner around her left eye, and half-carrying, half-dragging a guy who looked kind of familiar…

"You got some place I can lock him up, right?" Claire asked, pushing past Dean, who gaped at her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell? Who the fuck is this guy? Why the fuck do you have a shiner? _And why is he tied up?_ "

Claire rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, Dean, what's with the third degree?"

Dean gave her a flat look. "You're dragging some guy into this Bunker without warning. Think ya owe me a few answers." Dean looked at the guy again, whose head lolled up from his chest to give Dean a bleary grin, and suddenly the face clicked. "Holy shit...is that Keith Caffrey?"

Claire smirked and started walking her prisoner down the stairs. "Big fan of _The Bachelor_ , huh? Were you all upset when he didn't give Laney a rose, too?"

"Shut up." Dean scowled and crossed his arms before realizing that he still had a crapload of questions. "Why the fuck is the season five bachelor trussed up and in my Bunker, Claire?"

Shit. Did he really just admit he knew what season this dude was on the show?

With probably more force than necessary, Claire plunked Caffrey down into a chair at one of the library tables. "'Parently, he and Quinn didn't work out. Guess she wasn't a fan of him using her credit cards to get in on the supernatural black market."

Dean grunted. Caffrey gave him a dozy smile.

"She's cute," he slurred, drunkenly nodding towards Claire.

Before Dean could react, Claire punched him in the face. "I warned you, dickbag."

"Nice," Dean nodded as Caffrey was almost knocked over backwards in his chair. "Been working on that right hook?"

"Just like you showed me." Claire dumped her bag on another chair, then sat down herself and looked at Dean. "Figured I'd drag him here, then get him to tell us where his storage lockers are. He's got a lot of cursed stuff."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Coulda just gotten Sam to hack his accounts."

Looking over at Caffrey, a reddish-purple bruise forming on his jaw, Claire shrugged and grinned. "This was more fun."

Given what that douchewad said to her, Dean couldn't argue with that.


	8. A Risk Worth Dad

_Before he could try his butty, there was an unholy moan from across the counter that made Harry's belly and below do things it probably shouldn't._

_"Oh man," Dean muffled around a bite of food. "This is awesome."_

 

Chuck looked up from the pages the young angel had shown him. "Well, son, it's um...original."

"Really?" Zuriel practically beamed. "I know introducing someone other than Cas for Dean would be a risk, but I've read _all_ of your works—even _Bugs_!—and I just—"

"Right, yeah, _Bugs._ " Chuck's lips twisted behind his beard. "Listen, it's not that I don't love your creativity, son. I'm trying to turn a new leaf with my kids, ya know? I did the hands-on thing, then I did the absent-father thing, and now I guess I'm swinging back because, I mean, your Aunt Amara, she's great at a party and all, what with the dramatic darkness, but there's only so much time you can spend with your sister on vacation, amirite? And so what I'm trying to say is…"

Zuriel's hopeful expression faltered for just a second.

Chuck sighed. Time to rip off the bandaid.

The page crumpled with a satisfying crunchy sound and Chuck tossed the paper behind him where it promptly disappeared from existence once it was out of sight in the dim expanse of the back of the barroom.

Zuriel's eyes grew wide with shock and looked down fearfully at the next page: _A Perfect Giantess_. Chuck grimaced.

"But, Father—"

"Revisions, my son. Editing. Learn to love the red pen. And remember: just because something actually happened doesn't mean it needs to go to print. Sometimes, it's better to pretend it didn't happen at all."

"But—"  

"Zuriel, I'm _God_ and I wouldn't be able to get this published. Well, I mean, I _could_ , but—" Chuck took a breath, stopped his usual ramble. "Maybe you'd be a good Cupid?"

Zuriel sighed. "I suppose."

"Excellent. Just, um, stay away from the computer, ok?" Chuck got up from the bar and clapped the angel on the shoulder as he passed. "Good talk, son."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey it's Coldest Hits! [Here's October's prompt.](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/166085582770/mayalaen-forbidden-titles-spncoldesthits)
> 
> So if I used 9 titles from the bonus list, does that mean I get 90 points off? *puppy dog eyes*
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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